


Impurities

by CleverCatchphrase



Series: Extra Explicits [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abusers get away with their actions, Choking, Dark fic, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Orgasm, Forced Sexual Favors, Gaslighting, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Underage - Freeform, Verbal Abuse, Victim Blaming, Xeno, amab chara but uses gender neutral pronouns, forced blow jobs, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-28 06:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverCatchphrase/pseuds/CleverCatchphrase
Summary: You lie to keep him quiet when he catches you in the act, and then you grow that lie for your own benifit, dragging him along with you. He doesn't mind, though. He'd do anything for you.(And when he won't you canmakehim.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to test my abilities to see if I could write something truly deplorable when it came to explicit story telling, and I like to think I succeeded. I want you all to read those tags one last time before you read the fic, because I know what I've written is abhorrant and fucked up. That was the intent, so don't @ me. You were warned.

After living in the underground for a couple of months, there is one fact you know to be true above all others; the cave system is _big_. So big in fact, it has its own climate and weather patterns- from snowy valleys to swampy marsh to scorching mountain chains. It’s so big you wouldn’t be surprised if it had more than one time zone. But for all its caverns and caves and tunnels in this massive mole-rat maze, you’d think one would be able to find a quiet, secluded spot to get some alone time to one’s self. Get a little _privacy_.

But you know how the world works. You know you’re never allowed to get what you want. As the adopted second son of the royal family, there’s always someone minding your location, be it royal guards, royal baby sitters, or royal house cleaners. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. Usually you can evade them all if you’re crafty enough. You’re smaller and faster than most of the monsters here and can usually ditch your keepers if you’re clever and quick. The one person you always have trouble losing is the child prince, and rightful heir to the throne; your brother, Asriel. He’s every bit as sneaky and sly as you, but worst of all he’s clingy, and by God is it annoying that he clings to you the most.

You woke up that morning, the desire to be alone more pressing than most days, but of course your brother couldn’t take a hint, sticking to you like a malignant tumor. You did what you usually did when this need to go off for your masochistic ritual of self-flagellation presented itself- you carefully bided your time, casually asked if Asriel wanted to play, and then suggested your favorite game; Hide and Seek. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but it did buy you enough time to take care of your personal business.

Today, though, you must’ve been sloppy. Maybe you didn’t tell him to count high enough. Maybe he peeked and saw which direction you ran off in. Maybe you took too long and he got tired of waiting for you to find him. Maybe he cheated. You don't remember the circumstance and you don't particularly care.

The ruins are the least populated region in all of the Underground, and it has the least amount of dead ends and hidey-holes, but you risked coming all the way out here because it was the least likely place you would be discovered. Hiding behind a weather-eroded pillar, leaning against the cave wall, you dutifully touch yourself, careful and methodic. You take little pleasure in the activity, knowing you are exposed on two sides, and your eyes keep a sharp look out for anyone who may approach from the front, while your ears strain to listen for anyone who may sneak up on you from behind. Sure, there are a number of small, off-shoot caves and crevices in the ruins, but you don’t want to risk cornering yourself where someone could find you with your pants literally down.

Hastily, you force yourself to finish, not wanting to spend more time out here than necessary. Begrudgingly, you kick dirt over the evidence of your release in disgust. The air here has a permanent bitter stink now thanks to how often you visit- a reminder to how retched and vile you and all humans are. Fucking revolting.

You start to zip up your fly, but the zipper gets stuck, much to your annoyance, and you allow your concentration to lapse as you focus on getting your underwear freed from the zipper’s teeth. A fatal error on your part.

“Ah-ha! I found you, Chara!” Asriel declares in triumph, tagging you from behind. “And I think that was my fastest time yet!” You flinch in pure panic, scrambling to pull your sweater over your crotch before he sees, and angrily glare at him over your shoulder. That smug look of pride on his muzzle tells you he intentionally spooked you, and you mentally curse his padded feet for making him a virtually silent walker.

“Alright, alright, you found me,” you say hoarsely, trying your best to angle your front away from his line of sight. (Curse your stupid fucking zipper. It’s still stuck too, and your now-jittery fingers aren’t helping.) “Now it’s your turn to hide. Go, and I’ll count to two-hundred.”

“Ha! Ha! Yeah-!” He starts to turn away, but then looks back, eyeing you quizzically. “Hey, Chara… you feeling alright?” He asks, concerned. “You don’t sound well.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, avoiding his gaze.

“You sure? ‘Cause you look kinda red and sweaty…”

“I said I’m _fine_ , Asriel.” You insist. As discretely as you can, you tug at your zipper some more, but it still won’t budge.

“If you’re fine, then why won’t you look at me, Chara?” He pushes, stepping closer.

“No, don’t-!” you start, but it’s too late. His nose wrinkles in confusion as he sniffs the air.

“Eugh… what’s that smell? Did you get sick? Are you ill?” 

“It’s nothing!”

“Chara, please look at me! Tell me what’s wrong!” Genuinely worried, he tries to move around in front of you and again you turn away, but it only makes things worse. You always make things worse. 

“Chara, why are you hiding your stomach? Are you hurt?” Your brother pleads, beginning to freak out. “If you’re hurt, I’ll go get Mom and Dad-“

“No!” You shout, and finally give up. You sigh in resentment, and face him, shirt still drawn over your waist. There’s no way in Hell you’re gonna tell him what you were actually doing, though. Better to come up with an excuse quick before he blabs to everyone.

“Asriel, the truth is… I _am_ sick,” you fib. He gasps in horror.

“Oh no! Quick, if we go to Mom she can heal you-“

“No.” You firmly interject, cutting him off. “My sickness… can’t be cured.”

“It can’t?” His voice quivers, lower lip trembling as his eyes threaten to cry.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve had it since before I fell.”

“But… but! Maybe you couldn’t cure it because humans don’t have magic on the surface. M-maybe it will work on you down here!”

“I doubt it,” you shake your head. “Like most human things, my sickness… has a way of persisting no matter what I do. It’s always going to come back.”

Asriel whimpered, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

“C-can’t we at least try?” He begged. “Mom and the doctors are really skilled! A-and they know a lot about all kinds of healing! I’m sure they can think of something, or find a way-!”

“I can’t risk it, Asriel,” you say, thinking on your feet. “I might be contagious. If anyone examines me too closely, they might catch it too.”

“B-but we have to tell someone-!”

“You will tell no one,” you order, fixing him with a serious glare. “If they ever found out they’d… they’d exile me! Or worse, they’d execute me so the disease doesn’t spread!”

Asriel gasps in terror. “Th-they wouldn’t do that!”

“Yes they would,” you insist. “The sickness is just that bad.”

Utterly distressed, Asriel began to weep openly. 

“Chara,” he hiccupped. “A-are you going t-to die?”

“Yes,” you say matter-of-factly. “But hopefully not from my sickness. I can prevent that for now.”

“You can?” He snuffles, hopeful. “How?”

You waiver, chewing on your tongue in consideration. Maybe... If you could convince him that masturbation was necessary for your health you’d have an easier time sneaking off to touch yourself. Maybe you could even get him to help cover for your disappearances. Your brother was always eager to please those he looked up to, especially you. It’s a risk, but you think you can pull it off. You’re more than skilled at keeping him quiet and getting him to do what you want, so you decide to take the chance.

Nervously, you lift up the edge of your shirt just enough to reveal your (now flaccid) shaft. He looks at it half in awe, half perplexed. This is the first time he’s seen your penis (or any human’s for that matter.)

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” He says, confused. “How does-“

“My sickness,” you interrupt. “Builds up in me over time. And every so often I have to cleanse myself of the impurities by squeezing it out of me.”

“Oh…” Asriel’s voice trails off as he tries to wrap his head around it. “How often d-do you need to do this?”

You think about it. “Once a week, usually.” You decide. “Maybe more.”

“A-and if you don’t, uh, ‘cleanse’ yourself at least once a week, what will happen?”

“My sickness will spread faster, of course.”

“Oh…” Asriel says again. He goes silent for several moments, lost in thought, and you take the opportunity to finally fix your fly and properly zip up your pants.

“Is… is this why you’re always trying to get away from me?” He asks cautiously.

You blink, taken off guard. Either you were more conspicuous than you thought, or he was more observant than you realized. Either explanation unsettles you.

“Yes.” You say sadly, looking away.

“Phew, that’s a relief,” he beams at you and you throw him a bewildered look. “I thought you were trying to avoid me because you hated me or something.”

“I don’t hate you,” you tell him hollowly, and it was true. Sure, you got annoyed and fed up with him sometimes, but you didn't hate him.

“Yeah, I know that now,” he smiles sympathetically. “You were just hiding this because you were embarrassed, right? I should have never doubted you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, and start making your way to the exit of the ruins. Asriel hastily jogs to catch up.

“So, uh, I now you said you could handle this on your won, but, i-is there anything I can do to help?”

Your pace slows as you mull it over. It’s an interesting proposition, one you definitely do not want to waste. You should have expected him to say this, honestly. He’s always trying to please and impress you.

“Well, for starters, don’t. tell. anyone.” You remind him again. “And if someone asks where I am when I’m taking care of myself, lie and make something up.”

“O-okay” Asriel stutters. You know he’s uncomfortable with lying and keeping secrets unless it’s for a surprise, but you also know he’ll to anything to appease you. (And if he has any other reservations you know you can _make_ him stay quiet, if need be.) You glance at him and stop when you notice his eyes are still red and runny, on the brink of crying again. He’s still uncertain. You need to do something quick to make sure he stays in line.

With a delicate hand, you brush his arm and give him a gentle smile. 

“Thank you, Asriel,” you praise him, genuine and sincere. “I know I can always trust in you.”

That immediately does the trick. His whole face lifts and his eyes sparkle.

“O-of course! Anything for you, Chara.”

“Good,” you grin and change the subject. “Now let us forget what’s happened here today and go play a real game together for once.”

“Oh! We’ve got a ton of board games in the hall closet!” Asriel says, jumping to his feet. “You wanna go back home?”

“Let’s,” you nod, and let him eagerly lead the way.

* * *

With Asriel on your side, your access to tending to your needs increases tenfold in both time and location. The first few days were a bit rocky; Asriel’s cover ups and excuses for you were thin and clumsy, and his voice lacked the confidence to sound convincing. And whenever you weren’t off somewhere indulging yourself, he helicoptered over every little minute thing that you did, treating you extra cautiously as if worried you’d collapse at any moment from your “illness.”

It took numerous words of reassurance to get him to believe you when you said you weren’t going to break before he stared to relax and sound more natural, and after a couple of weeks a simple tap on his shoulder was all he needed to understand you were going to take care of business and that he should cover for you.

It was easier to get away from more scrutinizing eyes now that he was in on your secret. All you had to do was announce that he and you were “going out to play” and all the adults just smiled and went on with their day. They trusted you two to look out for each other, and Asriel looked out for you in more ways than one.

No longer were you confined to only the ruins when your urges hit. With Asriel standing guard, you dared to jerk off amongst the trees in Snowdin’s forest where you could watch the heat of your ejaculation melt divots in the snow, the white on white practically invisible to the naked eye. With Asriel at your back to be your early warning system, you masturbated on the marshy river banks of Waterfall, staring mesmerized at your seed, dancing and swirling in the glowing water as the current carried it away and before laughing over the echo flowers to erase the recordings of your panting and moans they had picked up. With Asriel as your extra eyes you experimented cumming on the different levels of Hotland, studying the plumes of flame your jizz made, and how high they blazed when it make contact with the magma below. Asriel never complained, even when you began ‘purifying’ yourself more frequently and at all hours of the day. Mostly he kept watch for pedestrians. But sometimes he watched you.

You almost accuse him of being a pervert when you first catch him doing it, but stop yourself before you can call him out. He’s too innocent to think of his watching as anything remotely inappropriate, too naïve, and his explanation for why is enough to prove it.

“Shouldn’t I know how it’s done in case one day you need help?” He said with absolute conviction. “What if one day you break both your arms and can’t take care of it yourself?”

You bite down on the laugh that threatens to escape your throat and reflect on his assertion. He had a point, as ridiculous and unlikely as it might seem, and you remind yourself that in his eyes, what you are doing was a necessary task for your wellbeing- not just some filthy, sinful human ritual. 

It happened back in the ruins, away from peeking eyes and stray glances. The first time you actively let him watch you work had been a little awkward. You were still unsure of yourself, the thought of your brother looking at you while you touched yourself was a mood killer, but he insisted. So clueless he was, he didn’t even know the correct terminology of your anatomy, making the whole ordeal into an impromptu biology lesson, and while it was slightly amusing to watch him study you with absolute seriousness, it did make you realize things would get complicated if and when the two of you started sex-ed in school. But that wouldn’t be for a few years yet, and you didn’t plan to be around that far into the future anyway.

“My penis gets hard if I let the sickness build up in me for too long,” you explain. “It mostly happens in the morning. If I find that it’s standing up, it’s usually a sign I have to cleanse myself.”

“What are those?” he asks, pointing to your scrotum.

“My testes,” you say honestly enough, and then lie and add; “It’s where my impurities are stored until I get a chance to empty them.”

“Do all humans have them or do you only get them if you’ve got the sickness?”

“Huh? Do you mean you don’t-?” You stop yourself before you can say too much. Better not to risk saying a contradiction. You analyze his words. Did boy monsters just not have balls? Maybe his hadn’t descended yet. Whatever. It didn’t matter. 

You make him sit a few feet away whenever he wanted to see you touch yourself (so he wouldn’t get contaminated, you explained). Carefully you stroke yourself, describing how your impurities needed to be delicately extracted. He watches with rapt attention as you milk yourself, and you never take your eyes off of him as you massage your sack and squeeze your shaft, thoughts growing more lewd as you fantasize things he could do to you, and things you could do to _him_. But, ah, alas that couldn’t happen now, could it? Not after you went on and on about not “infecting” him by getting to close.

Finally you climax, ejaculating into the dirt with a thick, pearly stream of semen. Asriel puts his chin between his thumb and forefinger and nods as if observing, but you know what he really wants to do is cover his sensitive nose from the smell. You have to resist your urge to giggle.

“After I’m cleansed, my penis will get soft again and hangs back down,” you tell him, slightly panting. “It may take a couple of minutes.”

“Chara, I’m so sorry you have to go through all this trouble just to stave off your sickness,” Asriel sighs sadly. “And so frequently too. It must be awful.”

You hold back a snort, and twist your smirk into a compassionate smile.

“It’s not all bad,” you say, petting his head. “The act of release feels pretty pleasant, so at least there’s that.”

“That’s good, I guess,” he mumbles, kicking some dirt over your mess to help cancel out the stink. “I just wish… I just wish you didn’t have to deal with this on your own.”

You study him, thoughts wandering, and a sick and twisted idea forms in your mind.

“You’re too kind, Asriel.” You say to him. “But I’m okay with suffering on my own. I wouldn’t wish this curse on anyone else. Now let us head back to New Home, shall we? Supper will be ready soon, and we don’t want Mother to worry.”

* * *

He shakes you awake early the next morning, sobbing in distress.

“C-Chara, p-please wake up. It’s an emer- emer- emergency!”

Your eyes slide open, smoothly, mechanically. You trigger yourself to yawn, and roll over to look at him.

“What is it, Asriel?” You ask neutrally, emotionlessly.

His eyes are red and puffy from weeping and his head is bowed in shame. “I think I- I- I-“ He coughs and hiccups, inducing a fresh wave of tears. “I think I caught your sickness!”

You sit up, donning a mask of worry. “Show me.” you demand.

Reluctantly, he leans back and pulls up his shirt, exposing his genitals. You take him in without commenting. His shaft is practically pencil thin, but impressively long, reaching up to, and past his navel. The bright pink flesh is perfectly smooth, and clear drops of precum bead at its tapered tip. An engorged knot rests in the base of his sheath, keeping him erect, and just below that, a tiny furry pair of testicles. Well, well. Looks like he has balls after all.

It’s an unusual sight, but not your first look at him. That had happened an hour or so earlier, when you woke up in the middle of the night, carefully folded back his covers, delicately pulled down his pants, and tenderly edged him while he was unconscious. You had been disgusted at first, thoroughly grossed out at the way his pointed dick inched out like a worm, by how skinny and long it was, but you were glad now to know what to expect. If this was your fist time seeing it, you might have gagged. You didn’t know if he was shaped like that because it was just a goat thing or a monster thing. Hell, the knot that swelled in his sheath made you suspect it was maybe even a dog thing. Frankly you didn’t care, and you certainly weren’t going to ask.

He looks more acceptable in the light, where the tip of his blushing nose and ears almost match the same shade as his cock. Even his sack (Which you hadn’t even _noticed_ in the dark) shone pink through his fur. You guess his testes only descended when he was excited, though the expression currently on his face said he was anything but.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper mournfully, stroking the side of his face. “I never wanted this to happen to you.”

“I d-don’t understand,” he sniffs, pulling his shirt back down. “I n-never touched you anywhere near, uh, _down there_ , or any of your impurities once they were out!”

“You must have just been too close,” you try to soothe him. “Maybe you inhaled some, or maybe a drop splashed on you by accident. It could have happened any number of ways at any time.”

“I w-w-want Mom,” he whines pathetically. “I h-h-have to tell her. M-maybe she can still help-“

“Asriel, you _know_ you can’t tell anyone.” You sternly remind him. “The disease is incurable and now you’re stuck with it for the rest of your life. If anyone finds out, they’ll throw us both into Waterfall’s abyss without a second thought to keep it from spreading. Do you want that? Do you want to die?”

"No.." He moans. "B-but what do I do now?"

“Same as I do,” you tell him grimly. “Follow me. I’ll help you.”

You lead him to the garden. It’s far enough away from the castle proper, and devoid of King and visitors at this hour. You guide him to the darkest corner and tell him to remove his pants.

“W-why do we always have to go so far away from home?” He questions, pulling down his underwear.

“We have to avoid contamination at all costs,” you explain. “Now more than ever. We can’t risk Mother and Father coming in contact with our illness and have them catch it too. That’s why I always try to purify myself where people won’t run into it.”

You slip behind him and slide your hand down to his groin, and lightly pinch the flesh of his penis right where it meets the tip of his sheath. It’s sickeningly slick. Asriel gasps in response, but you can’t tell if it’s out of surprise or enjoyment.

“Ready?” you say encouragingly. 

With eyes screwed shut and a grim expression on his face, he swallows once and nods in resignation.

With thumb and forefinger you slowly trace his entire length, running your hand from base to tip with long, even strokes.

“Don’t forget to be gentle,” you remind him as he starts to pant and squirm beneath your touch. “You have to coax it out carefully. It shouldn’t hurt. In fact, it feels kinda nice, doesn’t it?”

Asriel opens his eyes a fraction. They’re glossy with unshed tears. “Y-yeah… it kinda does…” he unenthusiastically admits.

You continue to edge him, teasing his shaft with one hand and groping his sack in the other. He whines, high pitched and drawn out, both in pleasure and shame beneath your fingers. Before long that knot in his sheath starts to grow even more, doubling in size, and Asriel’s whines turn into ugly, broken whimpers.

“Almost there,” you tell him patiently, massaging that frustrating swelling in his cock. He moans out loud, throwing his head back form the pure torment.

“Not so loud,” you hiss, placing a hand over his muzzle to muffle his cry. “We can’t let anyone find out, remember?” He murmurs an apology into your palm and tries to hold your hand for comfort. You let him, just this once time, so you can finish him off. And with a few more rubs he finally cums, firing a small spurt of cream-colored seed into the flower bed. He almost cries out again, but bites down on his tongue at the last second as he watches his cock pulse and throb, tapping against his chest.

“Good job,” you reward him with praise, hugging him from behind. “Feeling better?”

“Y-yeah,” he mumbles, though his face looks guilty, like he did something disgraceful. “But when will this go away?” He complains, pointing to his still-erect cock.

“The swelling will go down eventually,” you inform him. “It always does. The important part is that you’re purified for now. But we’ll have to monitor it from here on out.”

Asriel hangs his head in grief, clearly not excited with the idea.

“Asriel…” you gently place a finger under his chin and lift up his head to he’s looking at you. “It’s going to be okay. Having the sickness isn’t the end of the world.” He doesn’t look convinced so you go on. “And remember, you’re not alone like I was. You have me! I know what you’re going through and I can help.”

He smiles, just a tiny bit, at that, and you smile back in satisfaction. You’ve won him over.

“Y-yeah,” he snuffles, wiping his runny nose across the back of his hand. “I was there for you, now you’re here for me.”

“Exactly,” you say cheerily. “I am all you need.”

* * *

Your exploits have certainly become more… interesting, now that you had roped Asriel in for good. You let him live a mostly normal life early on. You liked to watch him go through his day with a brave smile and pleasant disposition when he was in the public eye. You liked to watch his gaze go unfocused when he thought no one was looking, how his lips quivered from memory, how his fingers twitched when he hugged his shoulders trying to forget. You never let him forget.

It was amusing to watch him doubt and second-guess himself until he came running to you for help. It was ironic to see him feel so ashamed and disgusted with a natural bodily function because he didn’t know any better. You liked to see him crack. You liked to watch him fracture. You wanted to make him _break_.

He didn’t particularly enjoy being your guard dog any more, not that you cared. So long as he kept covering up for you when you went out, you didn’t care what he did. But you did care a lot about what he _didn’t_ do. You would bring it up casually, once a week or so, always when he was distracted with other things. Always to catch him off guard.

“Hey, Asriel. When was the last time you cleansed yourself?”

He flinches. He always flinches and it sends a shiver of morbid giddy down your spine when you see his mood flip from indifferent to anxious. He knows what’s coming.

Most times he’s honest and able to repeat the exact time and date he was last “purified”, but sometimes he lies and claims he cleansed himself on his own time, and you know this is a lie because he won’t look you in the eye and you’re always stapled to his side these days, just like he clung to you before any of this started.

“I… I emptied myself yesterday,” he fibs and you know this is not true because you no longer let him out of your sight. “I’m fine. I don’t think I need another cleansing for a while.”

“Asriel, you can lie to your parents, and you can lie to your subjects, but don’t lie to me.” Sometimes you’re kinder about confronting the falsehoods he tells you, but he’s been lying a lot more recently and you will not stand for it. You will remind him who is in control.

“It’s been over a week since your last, and I know that because I had to help you like I always do.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need it!” Asriel insists. “I… I feel fine! I think i-it might have gone away on its own!”

“Oh, sure you feel fine now, Asriel, but you can’t let the sickness build up in you. We have to make sure.”

“B-but maybe the sickness isn’t dangerous to monsters!” he pleads. “Maybe it’s not deadly to us!”

“We can’t take that risk to find out, Asriel! If you ignore it and let it go unchecked it could damage you.”

You hate it when he tries to resist. It wears your patience thin. You go through your usual banter, scripted lines, well-rehearsed. You even throw in a few extra “pleases” and sweet smiles. You bat your lashes affectionately and rub his paw. Most times this works and he submits, knowing it’s easier not to put up a fight and just get it over with. But when he argues with you- when he tries to avoid your touch, tries to _fight back_ -

It infuriates you.

There is no middle ground when you go from politely requesting his action to straight up enforcing it. After you burn through all your “kind” tactics, you take matters into your own hands.

“So you want to die then, Asriel?” you ask him.

“W-what? N-no! Of course not!”

“You want to leave me all alone?”

“No! Chara, I would never-!”

“So you hate me, is that it?”

“ _What?_ Chara why would you think-“

“I got you sick and you blame me, so now you want to force me to watch you die! To remind me what I did to you!”

“No, Chara! That’s not it at all-!” You don’t let him get a word in edgewise. You keep pushing him, keep blaming him until he repents.

“You secretly want to tell your parents, don’t you?” you accuse, letting your voice crack. You don’t let your eyes water, though. You refuse to tear up because you are not a crybaby like him.

“I- I mean-“ He doesn’t know how to respond, which means you’ve hit a vein of truth. You mine it.

“You want everyone to know how sick and disgusting I am because you know they’ll blame me for what I’ve done to you!”

“Chara!”

“Of course they’ll forgive you. They’ll still love you and maybe even still _keep_ you even if they know you’re sick, but they’ll off me for infecting you! Should I just go now? Throw myself into Hotland’s lava to save everyone the trouble?”

“Chara no!” He’s wailing now, denying everything and begging you to forgive him, asking you to please, _please_ never leave him. He _needs_ you and never wants to live in a world without you. Even if you’re sick- even if _he’s_ sick, and he’s so, so sorry for denying your help and making you think he blames you.

That’s more like it.

You straighten up, triumphant and grab his wrist like a vice.

“Good.” You say maliciously, indicating that you forgive him, _for now_ , and lead him out of the house. The two of you have business to attend to.

* * *

The most frequent spot you service him is Waterfall, where you aren’t freezing or burning your genitals off, and where the evidence of his sins go unseen in the dark or washed away into the abyss by the many rivers in the region.

Depending on how cooperative he’s been, you either let him disrobe himself or do it for him, and you’d think after weeks of this routine he’d be less self-conscious of it. He never is, still just as timid as the first time. You have to take measures to make sure you are not too rough when you are the one who must take the lead. You do not want to cause too much pain or accidental injury. That is not how you prefer to break your toys. If he behaves, your fingers are gentle and light and you take your time, feeling every inch of him. If he got on your nerves that day you’re more likely to be aggressive to get to the point quicker, until he’s forced to orgasm against his will. 

You like it best when he follows your orders, though. You like it when he listens to you, _obeys_ you like he should. Rather than stand guard like he does for you, you often over see him, making sure he does the exercise right and actually goes through with it. Without you there to tell him what to do, he always takes too long.

“Lightly squeeze your sheath,” you command, standing, arms crossed with your eyes fixed dead on him. He swallows hard and looks down at his crotch so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with you. With shaking hands, he gently massages his sheath, but yields no results.

“It won’t come out,” he murmurs. You roll your eyes. It never comes out when he’s nervous.

“Then stick your finger in the hole to loosen it up.” You suggest.

“What? B-but that doesn’t f-feel good.” He complains.

“And dying from the sickness probably doesn’t feel any better,” you remind him. “If you really trusted me, you’d try. Just be careful.”

Questioning his faith in you always makes him stop hesitating. He never wants to fail you, never wants to let you down. With one claw he sounds himself, inserting the digit into his tip in an attempt to draw out his shaft and you have to keep from grinning maniacally. He’s doing it. He’s actually doing it all because you told him to. Sticking his own claw into the hole of his cock. If you could get him to do this with mere words, you wonder what else you could get him to do?

“It’s not working,” He says worriedly after a minute. “Maybe we should try another time?”

“You know we can’t wait until it gets worse. We have to stay ahead of the disease’s progression.” You tell him, much to his dismay. “If your penis refuses to come out on its own, then we’ll just have to make it.”

With quick strides, you close the gap between you and him before he has a chance to protest. With agile fingers you squat before him and force the skin of his sheath to roll back, popping out the tip of his shaft.

“Ah!” Asriel exclaims, and you don’t know and don’t care if it’s from pleasure, pain or surprise.

“There,” You say coldly, keeping the tissue pressed aside so his cock can’t slip back in. You bring up your other thumb and forefinger, ready to pinch his shaft. “Now we just have to pull the rest out.”

“Wait! Stop!” he shouts, swatting your hand away. You shoot him with an angry glare, silently demanding an explanation for such impertinent treatment. He knows he’s fucked up at once and stutters out an excuse.

“L-let me do it,” he reluctantly asks. Without taking your eyes of his groin, you watch him carefully replace your hands with his, using his left to keep his sheath parted and pushed down, while his right delicately nips the tip of his length. He winces at the feeling- even the revolting pink excuse of a penis tries to shrink away from his touch, trying to withdraw back into him but it can’t contract that far. He tries again, whimpering when he gets a hold of it this time, and holds it in place.

“Good,” you praise him, though your praise is mostly emotionless these days. “Now pull it out.”

His hands shake. He doesn’t want to.

“Come on, Asriel.” You encourage, and then threaten; “Don’t make me do it for you.”

He doesn’t want that. He knows by now you always squeeze a little harder than necessary. Slowly he pulls, his own cock fighting against him, not wanting to be exposed. He starts to sniffle and tears bead in his eyes. This was going to take forever.

“Remember to relax,” you tell him. “Don’t fight yourself. And don’t forget the rest of your sheath.”

He nods to let he know he heard you, and half-heartedly obeys, rubbing the base of his cock and taking deep breaths in order to calm himself. Centimeter by centimeter, his penis emerges and the knot at the bottom begins to form, insuring he can’t turn back now. 

Finally. Now you could actually get somewhere.

“Okay, remember what I taught you?”

“Long even strokes,” he recites apathetically. “Squeeze when you go from base to tip, like you’re milking a cow…”

 _‘Or goat,’_ you think snidely, and stand aside to watch. 

In one half of your mind, you utterly despise what Asriel’s become; an animal who engaged in a sin constantly committed by the human filth on the surface, no better than them and now just as corrupt. In the other half of your mind, you found it absolutely hilarious; to see him so ashamed and repulsed by a natural bodily function that should bring him pleasure, but instead it _scared_ him. It was like the greatest, longest running inside joke, one only you were in on. And to know _you_ were the one who robbed him of that joy and kept it for yourself, to know you could order him to touch himself on your command was intoxicating. It made you feel powerful. It made you want _more_.

He sobs when he cums in short, sharp bursts, and you side step his ejaculate to avoid the splash. As if you would allow something so repugnant to touch you. 

“There,” you say condescendingly. “Look at how thick and white it is. It was building up in you after all. Now you should be okay for another week, at most. Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

“Yes,” he says, though his inflection says “no.”

“Asriel,” you say in a warning tone. “I only want you to stay healthy. It isn’t fair you’re treating me like this.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, his voice more genuine this time. That’s better. He _should_ be the one who feel’s sorry.

“Apology accepted. And Asriel?” He looks at you dully. “As long as you listen to me and do as I say, everything will be alright. I know what’s best.”

* * *

While you know he loathes touching himself, he has few reservations about touching you, and even if he does, a quick guilt trip reminding him you’ll die and he’ll be responsible for it is always enough to change his attitude. You had initially put off the idea for a long time. Someone as vile and repulsive as him entrusted with pleasuring you? Unthinkable. But before long the feel of your own fingers wasn’t enough for you anymore, and that expression of powerlessness he always wore these days drove you wild.

You _made_ him touch you, telling him your condition was getting worse and your own efforts weren’t enough anymore. Your body expected your own hand and was desensitized to it. You needed to trick your body to get the impurities to come out. And he complied, still believing that your death would be worse than whatever you could put him through.

You hadn’t noticed his change in demeanor at first. The roughness of his paw pads mixed with the silky soft texture of his fur had blinded you for days, until one time you watched him grimace when he parts his sticky fingers, shaking of the strands of your semen in detest. It insulted you. It _enraged_ you.

Sure, you didn't like touching him either, but _he_ didn't deserve it in the first place. You only did it to make sure he cowered at your feet, to keep him in his place. He should feel _privileged_ to touch you, and yet he committed to the task the same way someone washed the dishes- reluctantly but out of necessity, and slightly disgusted at whatever he may happen to touch. He should be _happy_ to service you, _grateful_ to assist you. After all, you were _sick_ , and if he didn’t tend to it, you would _die_ , wouldn’t you? And yet he treated it like a _chore_ , glad to just get it over with and pretend he didn’t have to acknowledge it existed! Irrational anger built in you the longer you looked at him until you became unaware to everything else except that disgusted expression of his.

You wouldn’t stand for this.

He needed to learn his lesson.

He needed to be _punished_.

  


You feign a fever one day. Coughing and making your voice rough, you call to him early in the morning, making sure you wake him up without enough rest to think clearly.

“As… riel…” you wheeze. “Asriel… help me.”

“Wha?..Was’wrong…?” His speech is slurred from sleep deprivation, but the worry in his voice shines through.

“I think my sickness… is getting worse.”

That snaps him awake. Even though you know he now hates treating your “sickness”, the thought of you dying is unbearable for him.

“W-what? But! You were always so diligent! What happened?”

“I got lazy and put it off too long,” you lie. “It’s built up in me so much, if I don’t cleanse myself soon, I… I might-“

“Don’t!” He cuts you off, not wanting you to confirm his worst fears. “Come on, I’ll carry you to the garden.”

“Can’t… make… it…” You gasp. “Too far.”

“W-w-we can do it here, then!” He suggests. “I’ll get you some tissue or a towel or something to catch the impurities, and-“

“Too risky,” you shake your head. “Mother and Father empty the waste baskets and laundry, remember? We can’t risk infecting them. We can’t give the King and Queen our disease.”

“But… b-but-!” He starts to hyperventilate, panicking as his options dwindle. “I-if we can’t cleanse yourself far enough away, and we can’t do it safely in here, then-! Then you’re going to-!”

He starts to wail, and you let him, allowing him to imagine the worst, to make sure he’s lost all hope. He falls to his knees beside your bed and grabs your hand as he bawls his eyes out.

“No! No, Chara! I don’t want you to die! I don’t want you to leave me! There has to be another way! There _has_ to be!”

Music to your ears.

“There is… one way… I can safely purify myself in here…” you croak, weakly squeezing his hand back. “But I’ll need your help.” He looks up at you, eyes wide and pleading. You revel in that pitiful desperation of his. You _feed_ off of it.

“How?” he snivels. “What? I’ll do anything!”

Ah, those are the magic words you wanted to hear.

You throw back the covers and reveal yourself to him. You’re already stripped bare from the waist down, your cock erect and throbbing. You slide your legs over the bed, placing one foot on either side of him where he still kneels, your penis inches away from his face.

“Open your mouth,” you tell him, all traces of your feebleness and sore throat gone, but he's too shocked to notice.

“W… what?”

You inhale, close your eyes, then exhale, forcing yourself to keep your temper.

“I can’t risk cleansing myself with anything Mother or Father might touch,” you explain. “But you are already infected like me, so if I purify myself in you, we’ll be safe for the time being.”

“B-but…! Th-that’s…! This is..!”

“Asriel, look how big and swollen it is,” you say wistfully. “It’s practically threatening to explode. I don’t have much time.”

“But I don’t…!”

“Asriel, do you want me to die?” you ask impatiently.

“No! But I just…! I can’t!”

“You can’t?” you echo harshly. “After you literally just said you’d do anything? Or were you lying to me again?”

“No! I wasn’t lying!” his voice squeals in distress.

“Asriel do you love me?”

“ _What?_ Yes! Of course I do!”

“Then why won’t you help me? Why did you say you’d do anything for me if you just want to stand there and watch me die?”

“I…! I-!” He stutters in confusion, his mind muddled and lost in your maze of words.

“Asriel…” putting on your most beseeching expression, you lift his chin and make him look you into your eyes. “If you really would do anything for me, then _prove_ it. If you actually love me like you say you do, then _show_ me.” You wipe a teardrop out of the corner of his eye with one thumb. “If you truly don’t want me to die, then _do as I say_. Now open your mouth.”

Too scared to argue and doubting his own judgement, he slightly parts his jaws.

“Since you can’t use your hands, you’re going to have to use your tongue to stimulate my impurities to come out.” You preface him. “And use your lips to suck as well, but watch your teeth.”

He’s nervous and afraid, but you don’t care. Wallowing in learned helplessness, he slowly lets his tongue poke out. It’s every bit as long and pointed as his shaft, and when he tentatively licks your tip, it drives you mad.

“Ugh, this doesn’t taste very g-“

“ _Shh,_ ” you hiss at him, placing a pointer finger on his nose. “No talking and get to work. I’m running out of time, Asriel.”

To ensure he complies, you place one hand on the back of his head with an ever-present pressure to hold him in place. His lips quiver as he slowly engulfs you, and you stiffen a groan as his fangs lightly scratch your skin. He takes you all the way in with ease, the length of his muzzle easily longer than your cock. Inside his mouth, his tongue has no idea what to do or where to go as it tries to adjust to the new intruder. It flops and squirms and wraps around your shaft, but can’t seem to get comfortable, and neither can you.

“Start sucking,” you order, and Asriel submits, creating a vacuum in his cheeks that makes fireworks go off behind your eyes. Gripping his scalp, you persuade him to slide down to your hilt, and then pull back to the tip in a calm, even rhythm. After a few repetitions, he picks up the pattern and begins to bob his head on his own. You don’t remove your hands for a second, lest he forgets who’s in charge. And all the while you stare at him, unblinking as tears leak down his face and whimpers escape his throat. Slowly, that irrational anger in you starts to return the longer you look at his face.

It’s pathetic. It’s _disgusting._ He’s pathetic. _He’s_ disgusting. But despite all that, he was _yours_ and only yours to use and tease and torment and play with. Because that’s all he was. Just a toy. Just a play-thing, and one that wasn’t very fun anymore at that. He couldn’t even get you off right anymore. He was starting to outlive his usefulness, starting to grow boring. And when your toys didn’t entertain you anymore, it made you want to _break them_.

God, you were beginning to hate that wretched expression on his face. It made you want to humiliate him, to degrade him, to _violate_ him. Starting with that soft, warm, slimy, _revolting_ mouth of his.

How unsightly. To willingly put another’s penis in his mouth? How immoral. How filthy! And yours of all people. But it was only to be expected. Monsters, so good, so innocent, untouched by corruption until you- the inevitable sin, fell into their lives. It was only fitting it was you who would be responsible for tainting the most pure one amongst them, making him just as despicable as all of mankind. You can’t let someone like him, fallen so far from grace, to continue to live such a retched existence after what you’ve done too him. Nothing short of crucifixion would give him any chance of redemption now.

High on your own lust and self-hatred, you get to your feet. He hums up at you, fearful and inquiring, his head lifting up ever so slightly to keep your cock in his mouth. You only glare down at him in repulsion and place both of your hands on the back of his skull. And with a violent shove, you force his head down.

He tries to shriek, tries to push back, but you keep his head still in an iron grip as you fuck his face. He makes the mistake of opening his mouth, which only allows you to penetrate deeper, almost hitting the back of his throat and making him retch. With one hand you grab his muzzle and force him to close his mouth again. You want him to gag. You want him to _choke_.

With furious bucks, you ram your shaft down his gullet as he struggles and screams. He scratches you, unintentionally, you know on some faint level of awareness, but it hurts none the less and the fact that he’s fighting back infuriates you to the extreme. So you thrust, and thrust and _thrust_ , to punish him, getting drunk on the pitiful noises he makes, blood boiling at his cowardice. God, you _loathe_ him and yourself because it _turns you on_.

And then, when you at last feel yourself getting close, you pin him to your groin and hold him there, breathing hard and ejaculating into his throat until the last of his muffled sobs die and he fights no more. You stroke his esophagus before you pull out, forcing him to swallow against his will. A putrid receptacle for a putrid byproduct. How fitting. When at last you release him, he gasps, spluttering and heaving as he gulps down several large breaths of air.

You’re more level headed now after your purge, and only now do you consider the ramifications of your actions. And, while you don’t feel remorse (you believe you are incapable of that particular emotion), you do feel apprehension for what you’ve done. Not because you fear he’ll hate you (plenty of people already hate you, so what’s one more to the pile), but rather the fear he’ll tell. You know he’s spineless enough to rat you out, and then you really WILL be banished or executed for the sin you’ve committed. You need to ensure his silence.

“Boy, you sure are making _me_ feel loved, Asriel,” you say sarcastically, venom lacing your words.

“H-huh?” he coughs.

“I’m desperately trying not to die here and you’re crying like a baby for what I had to do to you! How do you think that makes me feel?”

“B-but you… It h-hurt m-me…” he starts/

“Oh, _I_ hurt _you_? Look at all the scratches you left on me!” you point to the marks on your thighs. “I’m sorry I just want to live! Sorry I thought you cared!”

“B-but I do-“

“Save it,” you snort, stepping away. “You will not tell anyone what happened here today, got it? I only did what I had to do to prevent my own death. You should be happy to help me! I thought you of all people would understand!”

“S… sorry…” he mumbles, and you sigh. Not in exasperation or relief, but in victory. He knows he’s in the wrong. You turn back to him.

“Get up,” you instruct, and he obeys, rising to his feet with his head still hanging. You embrace him in a stiff hug.

“I trust you with my life now, Asriel.” You whisper in his ear. “Please don’t ever let me down.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perspective change. As much as I wanted to do this solely from Chara's POV, everything from this point on worked better from Asriel's so that's what we're going with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every word I write is me taking one metaphorical step away from God's light and further into the devil's embrace.

Something in Chara changed that day. Asriel couldn’t tell what it was when they left him there on the floor, trying desperately not to cry as they silently dressed themselves and left the room like nothing had happened.

He finally breaks down when he’s all alone left with nothing but a shroud of shame on his shoulders and a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn’t comprehend why he was sobbing, why he felt so bad that this was happening to him. He was helping Chara, wasn’t he? Then why did he hate it so much? Did he… did he not really care like Chara said he didn’t? Surely he should enjoy helping Chara stay healthy, stay _alive_ even, but then why did it bother him so much?

He wished he had the power to forget. To just ignore the daily discomfort like Chara did. It never seemed to bother them at all. He wondered how they managed to do it, to go about their daily life, unhindered by these inevitable interruptions. They were happening almost every day now, too, and at all hours, making it impossible for Asriel to predict when Chara would next pull them aside for his “assistance.” And if Chara wasn’t purifying themselves on that particular day, then most times they made sure Asriel _was_ , much to his despair. Somedays it was both of them purifying themselves, but rarely it was neither. He longed for these rare “normal” days, which happened so infrequently they could hardly be considered the norm at all.

He began to dread waking up in each morning, wordlessly hoping and praying that the day would be a “normal” day, while simultaneously waiting on pins and needles for Chara to call him to action at any arbitrary moment. He was beginning to hate his daily cleansings, though he would never dare tell Chara that for fear of being reprimanded. At first he just felt wrong when Chara helped him get “purified”. Why did performing an action to prevent one’s one expiration feel so nice, when not doing it would ensure your own death? It seemed contradictory, or at the very least inconsistent. 

Only Chara seemed to be able of keeping track of their schedules and when they needed to be purified, dictating when and where they both had to be cleansed, and Asriel no longer questioned it. He _couldn’t_ question it. He didn’t ask if they should both be doing their routine simultianiously in the ruins, or in waterfall, both distracted, both exposed where anyone could see, and he didn’t ask why he had to use his own hands while Chara was in his mouth when they were both in the garden (Chara never used their mouth on _him_ , and he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or unequal, so he decided not to feel anything at all. Chara was always too rough with their hands, anyway. Asriel dreaded to learn what they might do to him with their teeth.) Besides, it seemed no matter how much he “cleansed” himself these days, he no longer felt clean, and he forced himself to avoid contact with everyone. Even hugs from his own parents were starting to make his skin crawl in disgust.

Sometimes Asriel dared to believe he wasn’t sick at all and Chara had made the whole thing up, but he never attempted to test this hypothesis out of fear for his life. Besides, what evidence did he have to prove that Chara was lying? For what reason would they even _want_ to lie when it came to matters of life and death? He trusted them, didn’t he? Besides, Chara trusted him, so he trusted them in return, unconditionally, no questions asked. He had no reason not to.

But he was starting to hate taking in Chara’s impurities. Chara rarely seemed to want to leave the house to relieve themselves anymore, not when Asriel could get the job done just as well, if not better. The bitter fluid made him queasy and he secretly feared it was making his own sickness even worse. Chara said that it didn’t work that way- that the sickness had to get into your blood first and his stomach acid would destroy all the impurities before that happened, but he worried regardless.

The worst was when Chara demanded help in the middle of the night, when his brain couldn’t process what was going on and he was too exhausted to think straight, and too fatigued to move as Chara touched him until he released, unable to flee or fight back. Under the cover of darkness was also when Chara seemed be their most rough with him, but he was always too dizzy and disoriented to remember the night’s events when he woke up for real the next morning, making him wonder if they had even truly happened.

One time he swore he had a nightmare where he woke up, struggling to breathe because Chara was sitting on his chest without announcement or warning. Too panicked to act, he simply lay there, watching in helpless terror as they pinned his arms above his head, parted the fly of their boxers, and forced him to take their cock into his mouth. All the while Chara stared, perfectly silent and stone-faced as they bucked against his lips. Asriel hugged his knees to his chest and rocked himself beneath his covers, repeatedly chanting “it was just a dream, it was just a dream” to himself the following day, trying to convince himself that Chara wouldn’t do that, but the off-white stains in his fur and sour taste that lingered on his tongue told him otherwise.

Despite his best efforts, his mind drifted back to all his past encounters with Chara, reliving the ordeals and trying to process them, trying to cope with them, trying to convince himself what had happened wasn’t _that_ bad and Chara hadn’t hurt him and wasn’t hurting him because Chara loved him and he loved them, and they’d never hurt someone they loved, right?

On days he was feeling particularly hopeless, he found himself longing for the time when he first realized he had the disease, back when Chara’s words were kind and patient, back when their touch was gentle and soft-

And then, without a doubt, the now-familiar twisting in his gut and swelling of his knot would send him into a near panic attack because now _his_ illness was getting worse too, and he hated it, hated how he had no choice but to touch himself or have Chara do it for him to make the aching in his groin go away, and he didn’t _want_ Chara to touch him, but _he_ still thought about them while he did.

One time Chara caught him expelling his impurities in his room. He had thought they’d gone out to play, away from home. He should have known better. He doesn’t know what to say when he sees them standing in the doorway, staring at him in detest as he holds a wad of tissue against his chest, so he doesn’t say anything at all. And after what felt like a lifetime, when the unbearable culpable feeling bubbling up inside him threatens to drown him, Chara speaks.

“Be sure to burn that with your fire magic. Then burn the ashes too.” They spit. “I’m not getting found out because of _your_ sloppy habits.”

He’s too ashamed to respond, too ashamed to have been caught red handed doing exactly what he wants to avoid, but in the moment _he’s_ the one who keeps it going, so he should be able to just put his hand down at any time and call it quits, but he _doesn’t_ , no, he just keeps stroking his shaft, wishing he could stop, yet clearly not doing so, even though he can, so he only has himself to blame-!

He hates that he thinks of Chara when he touches himself, then hates himself for hating Chara. He should love Chara! And he doesn’t understand where this hate for them comes from when they enter his thoughts now, while they are _surveilling_ him now. He wanted to help Chara, and Chara only wants to help _him!_

He sobs when he ejaculates, knowing Chara watched him do it, and stood there, quiet, judging him for being a helpless crybaby. There’s more and more each time now, and he’s starting to get desensitized to his own hands too. He wonders how much time he has left before the disease overtakes him too.

* * *

Asriel tries to distract Chara most days, now, hoping and praying that they will just let him have a normal day free of intimidation and suggestive requests. He’s extra polite to them, and always offers a plethora of activities they can do together. He’ll play all their favorite games, draw and color with them, build pillow forts and read books with them, plant flowers with Dad or grocery shop with Mom with them, get nice cream in Hotland, or start a snowball fight in Snowdin. He suggests everything. All these “normal” kid things they could do together. He does it all to keep Chara busy now, and even more so himself, so he doesn’t have to think about what he _knows_ Chara will do to him later. He doesn’t want to be reminded.

Most times Chara accepts his offer, even if he knows they’re only doing it to humor him. Any semblance of those earlier days is enough to keep him from having a complete and irreversible break down. The camcorder he found in the basement was a God-send, where they spent hours making home movies and skits, getting Chara to make a bunch of silly expressions and constantly forgetting to take the lens cap off. Chara was different when the eye of the lens was on them- more conservative, more restrained knowing this time it was them who was being watched (and more importantly, recorded.)

One time Asriel convinces Chara to bake a pie with him, to buy him an hour or two of peace. They ran out of butter sticks and thought it’d be funny to use the buttercups instead. Their dad got real sick from their creation, which sent him into hysterics, but Chara… Chara seemed unfazed by the incident, but they did become more reserved and contemplative for a few days afterward. It gifted Asriel with nearly a full month of unsteady reprieve.

The weeks after the pie incident grants Asriel a string of “normal” days, though he resents calling them that when his father lies in bed, sweating and retching, coming and going in and out of consciousness. But with Asgore’s own illness, everyone is too distracted to do much else but wait and worry, until finally his fever breaks and he pulls through, allowing the whole kingdom to sigh in relief. 

In the following days, Chara is quiet and contemplative and stays away from everyone, much to Asriel’s reprieve. They start frequenting the library, checking out books on subteranian plants and monster history for some indecernible reson, but Asriel won't question it if it means he gets extra peace. It’s not until three weeks have past that Asriel realizes Chara had not requested he purify them or himself, and he felt no worse for wear. In fact, the more he thought about it, he realized Chara hadn’t gone out or asked him to cover for them in that time either, and they seemed perfectly stable too. If both of their sickness had progressed so far, shouldn’t they also be bedridden by now?

A small spark of rebellion ignites in his soul. If… if he could be okay without “purifying” himself for a whole month without coughing or sneezing once, then… Then surely he wasn’t sick at all?

He contemplates this one day in his bedroom while Chara is somewhere else, mentally gathering evidence to support his claims, while slowly getting madder by the minute. He was fine. He was healthy! And if he was healthy, then that must mean Chara was too, which means Chara had _lied_ , and if they had lied, then everything Chara had done to him-

Everything Chara made _him_ do was-

Chara waltzes into their room then, arms laden with books. Asriel flinches out of reflex, his fury not yet hot enough to overpower his fear. But although scared he was, he was going to put his foot down. The secrets Chara had forced him to keep were going to come out.

“Hey Asriel,” Chara says casually, not aware of the storm brewing on the bed across from them as they organize their library books. “You know how we need seven human souls to break the barrier but only one human soul and one monster soul to cross it? I was thinking-”

“How do you feel today?” Asriel asks, his tone reproachful.

“What?” Chara asks back, meeting his eyes with a confused expression.

“Do you feel fine today? Healthy? Because I do. In fact, I’ve been feeling really good for weeks now.” Asriel stands up, crossing his arms. He tilts his head back and gives Chara an accusatory glare. “We’re not sick, are we?”

Instead of answering, Chara merely narrows their eyes, their mouth drawn into a thin line.

“Y-you lied to me, d-didn’t you?” His voice fluctuates, half from nervousness to standing up to his tormentor, half from the tears he can feel forming in his eyes. Of course he would start crying now. Crying seemed to be his solution to everything. “You made me do all those horrible things to you and myself… _you_ did all those horrible things to _me_!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Asriel can see Chara slowly curl their fingers into a fist. They’re drawing their shoulders up like a shield against him, but they do not break their stare at him, and neither does he.

There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to yell at them, _scream_ at them, demanding to know why- _why_ was it necessary? _Why_ did they want to hurt him? _Why_ did they enjoy tormenting him, _using_ him! Was it because they liked watching him suffer? Was it simply because they _could_? He wants to shout at them, hoping to hurt them with words the way they hurt him with lies, but his whole body is beginning to shake and he fears he’ll have a break down before he can ask get his first word out. So, taking a breath, he says something he knows will hurt them just as bad.

“I’m telling Mom and Dad.”

If he had been paying closer attention to Chara’s body, Asriel would have noticed that Chara had not been balling up their fists and drawing up their arms in self-preservation.

They had been winding up an attack.

He learns this too late when Chara swings their arm wide, faster than he can follow, and suddenly there’s pain on the entire right side of his face and the world is turning sideways.

He hits his head on the bed post as he falls, giving himself a matching concussion for the other side of his skull, and he crumples to the ground in a heap. All at once it feels like his brain has lost all communication with the rest of his body, unable to move no matter how hard he wills it. Desperately, he tries to open his eyes, but when he finally manages, all the colors are wrong, and they won’t focus, instead trying to roll back into his skull.

He does catch a shadow stalking toward him, and a pair of sharp red eyes looking down on him from above.

“Ch-Chara…”

Chara pulls back one leg and delivers a swift kick to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

He tries to scream, but he can’t breathe. He can’t even _move_.

Struggling for air, he’s faintly aware of two hands grabbing him by the collar, lifting him up, and throwing the front half of his body onto the bed. Feebly, he tries to right himself, but his legs dangle uselessly over the edge of the bed, unresponsive and exposed.

“Asriel, did you know a human’s strength is tied to their desire to harm?” Chara asks coldly behind him."I read it in a history book."

He tries to ask what they were talking about, but his lungs still felt as if they were trying to draw air in through a straw. A pair of rough hands rip his fly apart and aggressively shove his pants and underwear to his knees.

“I could kill you right now if I wanted too, Asriel. I could kill you right now in one hit if I’m angry enough. But I won’t.”

There’s the sound of a zipper unzipping and the rustle of fabric being shed, before Chara grabs his nub of a tail and bends it sharply back against his spine, making Asriel wheeze in pain. He hears the sound of Chara spit and feels the sickeningly warm drip of their saliva hit his anus.

“I’m going to do something _so much worse_ to you for threatening me like that.”

And suddenly there’s a presence and a _force_ behind them and Asriel realizes with petrified clarity at what Chara is doing. His tongue flops in desperation, trying to remember how to form words, and they manage to gurgle _something_ , if only reflexively as Chara pushes their way into him.

Raw terror like he’d never experienced in his life thrashes in him like a caged animal as Chara rams their penis down to the base in him, relentless and unforgiving while Asriel can only squeak out the first vowel in the alphabet. Little by little, his lungs regain function and his voice comes crawling back. It’s harsh and faint, but it’s _there_ and he’s got to use it, he’s got to _try_.

“ _H… He… Help_ …” he croaks, but it’s so quiet and raspy he can barely hear it himself. “Mom… Dad… somebody… Help me!”

He begins to smell blood. Is his head bleeding where he hit the bedpost? Did Chara tear him? His entire world is pain, every nerve of him screaming in agony so it’s impossible to tell. Dully, feeling returns to his limbs, and he tries to move his legs to kick Chara off. He tries to lift his arms in a desperate attempt to crawl _away_ , but Chara sees his fingers twitching and grabs both his arms, twisting them over his back at an unnatural angle. An arm wraps around his vision before slipping under his chin and putting him in a choke hold. Panic floods him as his head is craned back and his airways get cut off once again.

“I only wanted you to help me, Asriel,” Chara hisses in his ear, voice deadly serious. “All I wanted you to do was to _listen_ to me and follow along. All you had to do was trust me! I trusted you, and this is how you treat me? By betraying me??”

Desperately, Asriel tries to speak, to beg Chara to let go so he can breathe. He’ll promise he’ll listen to them, he’ll even let Chara continue to do whatever they want to him they just let him go, just let him _live_.

“I will make you _beg_ for me to kill you if I find out you tell anyone what we’ve done together,” Chara promises as his hearing begins to go out. They sound echo-y and far away. 

His mind grows thick and sluggish as dark spots slowly encroach on his vision and everything starts to go numb. Well, almost everything. Behind him he can still feel Chara assaulting his rear, pounding him with stabbing, excruciating pains until they hilt themselves as deep as they can, pressing all their weight on top of him.

“And if by some chance you remember any of this, well… you’ll really wish you hadn’t.”

He feels the hot, wet rush of Chara’s ejaculate fill him as the last of the light fades-

-and then escapes into unconsciousness where he can feel nothing at all.

* * *

Every ounce of him is sore and smarting when he wakes up. His head, his throat, his chest, his shoulders, his back, his legs. It’s painful to move, it’s painful to _breathe_ , and worst of all he doesn’t know why.

With effort, he cracks open his eyes to find himself tucked in bed. That’s funny. He didn’t remember going to sleep. He tries to think, puzzled at the gap in his memory that led up to this moment, but everything is foggy. What had he been doing last before this?

He hears someone clear their throat and tips his head towards it, letting gravity do most of the work, and finds Chara sitting cross-legged on the bed across from him. They stare at him, shoulders slightly hunched, emotionless and unblinking. They look like a vulture.

At once he forgets trying to remember what led up to this moment, focusing on them instead. The slight of them stirs Asriel with a confusing cocktail of emotion, both relieved and filled with dread that they are here, watching over him. Just watching. Always watching.

“Cha…ra?” His voice rasps.

“How do you feel.” Chara asks. There’s not a drop of concern in their voice (but maybe one of mockery.)

“It… hurts… everything hurts…” he murmurs. "Why?"

“What do you remember about yesterday?” They inquire.

He tries to think, he really does. He remember being in his room, maybe, but not sure why, and it hurts just as much to try and recall as it does to breathe, and he’s too tired to keep trying. He’s so, _so_ tired…

“I… Don’t…” he confesses, shaking his head, then winching at the migraine it gives him.

Chara straightens up, apparently curious (or was it relieved?) by his answer. 

“You almost died,” they say flatly, almost accusingly at him. “I found you on the floor of the bedroom. You let your sickness go unchecked, didn’t you?”

He… he had. He remembers that now. But… something about his sickness… wasn’t there something he discovered about it? He tried to remember, but it was so hard, like trying to read a book in another language. He let his eyes close. Hadn’t he felt fine yesterday? He thought so, but with the amount of pain he was currently in, it was hard trying to recall a time when he _didn’t_ hurt.

“I almost lost you…” Chara’s voice is startlingly gentle, even genuinely worried, and it drags Asriel back to the present, away from his quest to piece together his broken memory. He opens his eyes again and looks at them. Maybe they should just let Chara fill in the rest. They wouldn’t lie to him.

“I was only just able to save you,” Chara tells him, their tone flipping back to reproachful. “I had to lie to Mother and tell her you went to bed early so she wouldn’t suspect anything. This is your own fault, you know that?”

“I…” He starts to say, but does know how to respond. “Sorry…”

Chara sighs in exasperation, and closes their eyes. They don’t seem satisfied with this answer, but Asriel doesn’t know what else to say. He guesses he should thank them for saving his life. After a while, his head began to clear and he was able to sit up. Everything ached.

“Hey, Asriel. Do you want to go in the garden today?” Chara asks suddenly, changing the subject as they see him start to recover.

“And do what?” Asriel asks back, suspicious.

“Whatever you want to do,” Chara shrugs. “Sit in the sun a bit? Play a game together? You just had a near death experience, brother. I thought you would want to take it easy a little.”

“Oh…” Asriel let his shoulders un-tense. He slid his feet out of bed and managed to stand. “Can we… can we film another home movie?” He suggests.

“Sure. That sounds fun. I’ll meet you in the garden, then.” Chara nods. “Oh, and Asriel, do you remember what the monster history books said about the barrier? How we need seven human souls to break it, but only one to cross?”

Asriel tipped his head to the side. “Yeah? What about it?”

“After what happened to you, I’ve been reflecting of my own mortality lately. My sickness is going to catch up to me sooner or later. It’s got me thinking…”

“Chara where are you going with this?” Asriel interrupted, not liking where this conversation was going. He loved Chara and didn’t like it when they talked about how valuable their soul would be to monsters.

Chara smirked, looking at him over their shoulder. “Oh, I’ll tell you more when you meet me in the garden.”

They leave without saying anything else, leaving Asriel to catch up. As fast as they can, they find the camera and skip out of the room, internally thankful for Chara’s offered distraction.

It seemed like today he was lucky enough to get a normal day.


End file.
